


jumped

by kurooos



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor's got the ken doll package but they make it work, Frottage, Grinding, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Light Petting, M/M, Sloppy Makeouts, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 20:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurooos/pseuds/kurooos
Summary: After work, Connor and Hank makeout and fuck on the couch.





	jumped

**Author's Note:**

> yall know i had to write some hankcon too, come on  
> what's better than having some frisky Connor? an android's got needs too

The house is dark when they come back, save for a lamp set on a timer to come on at 7 pm for Sumo. But even that light is weak, the light bulb needed to be changed weeks ago. 

Sumo comes to greet them at the door, trotting over with a slow stretch after getting up from his spot at the far foot of the couch. His tail wags slowly and Hank gives him a pat on the head before working on taking his jacket off. 

Connor takes the time to shut the door and then crouch down to ruffle up his fur behind his ears, squeeze Sumo’s floppy jowls between his hands while dodging an excited tongue. 

Hank is used to the late night ritual and gravitates towards the kitchen, ready to have one (just one, thanks to Connor’s annoying insistence to quit drinking) glass of whisky. But he only makes it to the couch before hands are grabbing at him, stopping him at his wrist, turning him by his hips, shoulders, pushing him until his ass bumps into the back of the couch and Connor’s mouth is on his. 

By habit, Hank’s hands find Connor’s hips and squeezes. He makes a panicked noise and then finds himself pushing a hand on Connor’s chest. He’s careful to not press up against the thirium pump, memories of Connor scrambling on the floor to reach the biocomponent that had been ripped free make Hank overly cautious. 

“Woah, hey, what’s this all about?” he asks, looking over Connor. 

The android looks as impeccable as always, save for the uniform jacket being removed, but the LED on his temple is rolling yellow, bright in the otherwise dark room. 

Connor’s eyes flick down to his lips just as he bites his own bottom lip and lets it go quickly. Hanks stomach flips hotly as he wonders where the fuck Connor learned that from. 

“Do I need any reason other than that I want to, Lieutenant?” Connor’s head tips to the side, an eyebrow ticking up subtly as he talks. It’s one of those curious motions that’s so uniquely Connor, attractive because it’s Connor. 

Fingers are sneaking up his hips, tugging his shirt-tail out from under his belt and Hank snatches Connor’s wrists, frowning at him. That makes Connor stop, he blinks and Hank can just about watch the thoughts rattling around in his head. 

Sumo’s paws on the hardwood passing them by to go lay down again cuts the silence between them until Hank speaks. 

“Staring over dead bodies, gory evidence, and mind puzzles at the precinct all day got you hot and bothered?” 

“I wouldn’t say that.” Connor still has that frown, the one where he’s trying to figure out something Hank is teasing him with or trying to understand a human concept he’s not knowledgeable in. He had the same face when Hank explained to him what sarcasm was. 

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Hank mutters, pulling Connor back in to kiss him before starting to move them around the side of the couch to actually sit on it, “you don’t have to have a reason. I get it.”

Any other time and Hank would have endlessly teased Connor about instincts and timing and feelings, but it’s pretty obvious Connor would shut him out and change his mind. He’ll mention it later, tomorrow probably. It proves Hank’s unsaid point that Connor is more human than he thinks. Connor gets desires and urges just like any other person. 

And speaking of desires and urges, Connor’s hands are on him again, tugging Hank close so that their lips press together gently, soft and sweet, and then Connor’s cupping Hank’s jaw so that he can run the smooth, fingerprintless pad of his thumb at the corner of his mouth and follow it with his tongue. 

For all the times he gets onto Connor for licking things, he sure isn’t protesting now. Connor doesn’t really  _ taste _ like anything, which is a little strange but his mouth is wet enough to not make it uncomfortable. And he sighs gently when Hank’s teeth find his lips or tease his tongue for getting too bold. 

Eventually, they find a good position on the couch; Connor’s slouched in the crook of the arm and back of the couch, hair sticking up where the back of his head rests on the upholstery, from the slow way Hank’s kisses push him further down on the couch until he’s almost laying down. Hank has a knee between Connor’s spread legs and an arm braced on the back of the couch as he looms over Connor to kiss without crushing. Not that his weight even matters to Connor. Android strength and all. 

They meet again, hurried and heated and this time Hank’s shirt gets rucked up to his chest so Connor’s hands can smooth over his back and sides unhindered. Connor’s hands don’t give off any body heat but his touch is warm. It’s a joy to feel those fingers and well kept nails dig into his back when Hank gets his head at a nice angle and his tongue slips just a little deeper. 

Hank pushes closer so that Connor can feel the bulge in his pants press against him. Were he paying more attention he’d be able to watch Connor’s LED fade from blue to yellow in thought, eyes still closed and more focused on making out with Hank on the couch like they’re rowdy teenagers trying to get it in before parents come home. 

There are no looming threats of parents. There are no more younger, youthful years, at least on Hank’s part. Yet, the man can still get hard with just a bit of kissing. The thought brings a little smile to Connor’s lips and Hank pulls back. 

They finally look at eachother, taking the time to catch their breath between one deep inhale and the next. Hank looks a little embarrassed, flustered in a way that the man only hides with irritation and a bothered facade. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks, sounding accusatory and mean, but Connor knows he’s nervous, worried he might be doing something wrong. Connor doesn’t know any other human as well as he knows Hank. 

“One might claim you to be too old to be doing stuff like this.” Hank’s scowl deepens at that and he sits up further but doesn’t take his hands off Connor, doesn’t retreat from keeping their lower halves pressed firmly together. 

“By all means, if you want to stop I’ve got the depressing news to catch up on and an early bed time to catch up on.” It’s a thinly veiled threat. Teasing. 

Connor hooks a leg around the one keeping Hank standing and then slides a hand up the man’s thigh, around to his ass so that he can pull, a firm squeeze and makes Hank narrow his eyes. 

“I never said anything about stopping, Lieutenant.” 

“For fuck’s sakes, stop calling me that,” Hank rolls his eyes, leans down again to kiss Connor a few times, bathing the room in silence again apart from the soft noises of their mouths connecting and pulling apart, “told you to call me Hank in private.”

“Of course, Lieutenant.” Connor replies cheekily, mumbles softly against Hank’s lips with a smile that’s kissed away with force and a grumble.

There’s not much in the way of coherent conversation after that. Hank makes sure to kiss him harder every time Connor opens his mouth, either to speak or do something else. In the back of his head he keeps track of the time, they can’t stay here like this all night, regardless of how much Connor  _ wants _ to. 

Hank’s tongue feels good against his own, his lips are just a bit chapped but not rough, and his hands are firm and solid on Connor’s thighs and hips and sides. Even though Connor doesn’t need to breathe, he feels breathless. It’s not an unwelcome sensation.

After five minutes and twelve seconds, Hank pulls away again. This time Connor’s a little disappointed. Hank chuckles and brushes his thumb over the android’s bottom lip, pushing. 

“Didn’t know you could pout.” he says pointedly and Connor runs through that sentence. He relaxes his face almost in embarrassment, fixes the furrow between his brows and the stuck out lip. 

“You sure are something,” Hank comments. 

They end up rearranging after that. Hank gets up from the couch, or rather from his place leaning over Connor so that he can take off the shirt that Connor’s messed up. 

The man is just overweight, both from decreased metabolism due to age, his diet, his drinking habits, his lack of exercise. But he’s nice to look at nonetheless. Even if Connor can’t make out defined muscle, Hank is handsome in his own burly way. Light hair dusts his chest, starting to cover up the tattoo that takes up the skin on his chest. It grows thick the lower Connor looks, a grey happy trail disappearing into his pants. Hank’s hands come into view, fingers working on the buckle of his belt, the button and fly of his pants. Connor’s eyes follow the skin and hair up the man’s arms, taking in the few tattoos swirled on his arms. 

He’s never gotten the story behind them. Not yet anyway. It’s not high on Connor’s list of important tasks right at the moment, however. 

Their eyes meet again and Hank’s watching him expectantly. Not like he’s about to ask anything of him but more so like he’s just waiting for Connor to be done analyzing him. 

Connor rolls his eyes, something he’s discovered irritates Hank and raises his blood pressure incrementally. Connor works on his own pants, not getting distracted by Hank pushing his boxers off to his ankles and stepping out of them. His socks roll down when he kicks his pants free in a smooth motion. 

Connor doesn’t have to worry about boxers or underwear, being a detective model android, CyberLife didn’t equip him with any genitalia, functional or otherwise. Most androids whose function was labor, menial or otherwise, didn’t need it. Tracis and a few housekeeper models came with the option. 

As it is, Connor’s completely smooth between his legs. The first time he’d been completely naked in front of Hank, there wasn’t much shock or surprise. Then again, maybe the hurried need to get all the mud and saltwater off his body took priority. 

Hank brings him back to the now with a firm hand slipping between his legs. It’s a simple motion, pressure and heat moving back to front then back again, but it lights sparks in the wires just under the skin. Connor purses his lips and spreads his legs to let Hank have less obstruction to touch.

Connor finds himself closing his eyes again, just feeling.  _ Feeling _ . 

It’s a complicated series of events how it got to this, how he and Hank started having sex, how Connor found out about being able to feel pleasure. (A little piece of code suddenly flipped on and activated upon deviancy).

Connor focuses more on Hank’s touch rather than his memories, knowing that he’s being watched, knowing that Hank is making sure he’s alright even though he knows Connor would stop him if he wasn’t. 

Hank’s lips find his again when he pushes down with his palm to touch a little harder. Connor gasps into Hank’s mouth and bucks his hips up, his own hands and touch skipping to Hank’s hips to hold on. 

Connor doesn’t get worried, but he might have been a little concerned about what Hank would think about his smooth crotch. The most they’d get in would be blowjobs and handjobs. In a way Connor had been a little disappointed that he couldn’t give Hank everything that came with the territory of exploring a relationship and the consequent sex life. But Hank was a good problem solver and that issue became water under a bridge. 

Connor finds himself flipped around onto his stomach, legs pressed together as he keeps his feet on the floor, shuffling then to his knees to find a better angle. He’s used to this position on a bed or the rare instance of the kitchen table. Something with height that doesn’t obstruct his legs and how he lays. The couch is a new one. 

It’s low, meant only to be sat on, not to have sex against, at least not like this. Not with Hank pressing his hard cock between his smooth thighs. Thinking about the logistics and complications of the height of the couch becomes too much of an effort as Hank starts moving. 

Hank starts slow, testing thrusts that don’t jostle them too much so he can start to pull Connor’s button down free and tossed over the arm of the couch to be dealt with later. Connor’s sparse freckles are spattered down his back, more clustered up near his shoulders and becoming non existent near his hips. 

CyberLife seemed to think of everything creating Connor. The unique spatter of freckles, the muscled build and toned waist, the perfect fucking ass. 

Hank gets a kick out of watching Connor’s sides expand on a hard breath when Hank’s hands grope at his full cheeks, spreading to reveal more smooth, hairless skin, growing slick and glistening when he drags his cock against his cleft and then pushes back between his legs. 

Connor has a bad habit of hiding himself in his arms when he feels good. As if he’s embarrassed to let himself lose control of himself and enjoy himself. It’s almost charming that Connor can feel flustered. 

Connor’s made a good place in the corner of the couch, head tucked under his bent arm, fingers just barely able to reach the hair at the back of his neck and hold on before moving to clutch at the back of the couch. His breath picks up, panting and gasping and hiding little moans where he thinks Hank can’t hear him whine his name. 

The hiding makes Hank pick up pace, fuck between his thighs rougher to make Connor louder. The synthetic skin is clean and slick and soft, and maybe he shouldn’t make the comparison, but it’s pretty close to a fleshjack. His cock curves just enough to rub the sensitive place between Connor’s legs where his dick would be every time he pushes in hard. The angle is a little weird thanks to the couch being awkwardly low, Hank having to bend his knees a little more to get his thrusts right, but it works all the same. 

Sweat gathers between his shoulder blades and at his temples. His stamina isn’t what it used to be, and the time it takes him to cum is much shorter. Cynically, he reminds himself that he doesn’t need Viagra to get it up. Yet. 

Connor’s moaning his name again, shoulders shaking a little harder than before, synthetic muscles under the skin tensing and flexing the longer Hank fucks him like this. Connor’s orgasms are different than Hank’s but he knows how to get the android there and over that edge. He knows all the little signs now of when Connor’s close. 

The android is trying to quiet himself more and push his hips back to be closer to Hank. But the easiest sign is his LED, flickering from yellow to red. Hank’s also picked up on Connor’s little habit of turning his head to hide the LED from view, something he only began to do recently after becoming deviant. 

He’s doing it now, head turned just enough that Hank can’t see the little circle. He has no doubt it’s yellow now, but he likes to be able to see anyway. His hand moves from it’s spot braced on Connor’s shoulder up to his neck, fingers gentle as he turns his head the other way. Hank leans down enough to kiss the LED, now circling red, over and over under his lips as he holds Connor down through his trembling. 

Connor’s voice trips out as he cries out Hank’s name again, legs pressing together tighter like it might help him get through his climax easier. Hank doesn’t stop, keeps fucking him through it until Connor’s eyes flutter shut and his shoulders relax. 

Hank doesn’t last much longer after that, grunting as he catches his bottom lip between his teeth. He’ll probably regret cumming between Connor and the couch later, but right now he rides out the pleasure until it fades into a pleasant buzzing under his muscles. 

Coming back to himself from the afterglow he finds Connor watching him. It’s not a cold piercing gaze he has when he’s seriously analyzing someone or something. It’s a rare, soft look where his eyes are dark and wide and he doesn’t have such a serious strain on his face. Something about it makes Hank feel gross and sappy like he’s overflowing with thick molasses or honey and it’s oozing out between his fingers. 

He grumbles at Connor, an accusatory, “what are you looking at me like that for?” as he kisses the side of his face and the back of his neck. Connor doesn’t reply, happy to lay there and bask in the moment until Sumo comes around the couch and starts sniffing at the clothes on the ground. 

Connor doesn’t mind the dog’s presence there but for some reason it makes Hank move. He shoos Sumo away and grabs at his shirt, quickly cleaning Connor’s thighs as he rolls over and sits up properly on the couch. 

Hank sort of wishes he could take a picture. It doesn’t look real. Connor ass naked sitting on the couch like it’s just another day and Hank might soon join him and turn the tv on. 

“I need a shower.” he says, and Connor gives him a smug look when he starts to walk around the couch with shaky legs. The muscles in his legs are going to be bitching at him in the morning for the strain the position put them in.

* * *

 

Hank gets his laugh in as well when he comes back from his shower and finds that Connor hasn’t moved from the couch. When he tells Connor to go clean up, the android is silent for a while before getting up on his own bambi legs and wobbling over to the bathroom while trying to look as serious as he can, cum still clinging to the front of his thighs. 

Hank ends up thinking about the sight even after he’s calmed down and settled in for the night. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the end is just a little rushed imo but i hope you enjoyed  
> ;)


End file.
